Page 4 of The Boxer’s Belle

West’s swallow was loud in the quiet meadow. “Do you want to marry one of them?”

“What has that to do with anything?” she asked, genuine confusion written in the furrow of her brow and in her flat tone.

Rather a lot. “Nothing, I suppose.”

He plucked a sprig of toadflax and twirled it between his fingers. Another one appeared in his hand—harvested without thought. He sat up and twisted them together the way his mam showed him when he was a lad. He added another bloom, a violet one he didn’t know the name of.

“What on earth are you doing?” Bella asked after he’d added a fourth.

“Wait and see,” he said, allowing the corner of his lip to tip up. One by one, he added more flowers until they formed a ring several inches in diameter.

With great ceremony, he offered up his finished creation to her on both palms. Bella responded with equal pomp and tipped her head forward. West held his breath as he placed the crown atop her waves. The strands were impossibly soft under his coarse fingertips.

Bella’s eyes crinkled in delight as she reached up to straighten her new diadem.

“You are a man of surprising talents, Miles Weston. Not particularly useful talents, of course, but surprising.”

A huff of laughter escaped his chest. “I’ve got one or two of use as well.”

“Debatable.” She tipped her head to the side with the retort. The blooms slid across her glossy strands.

His fingers reached out to arrange the crown before her own could react.

“I have you,” West breathed. His hand, entirely without his permission, slid down to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear. Still possessed, his forefinger traced the line of her jaw down to her chin.

Bella’s lips parted, full and supple. God, he wanted to taste them.

Wide, hopeful eyes met his. A puzzle piece snapped in his head—his heart threatened to burst as understanding washed over him.

This wasn’t a passing fancy. West wanted to give her more than a hairpin, more than a flower crown—he longed to give her his body, his home, his heart… his name.

No action had ever cost him more than when he ripped his hand from her skin. He glanced away and cleared his throat.

“I, uh, I should— I can walk you back to the house?”

Bella’s gaze dropped to the ground with a quiet nod. West rose and offered her his hand. Instead of accepting, she pressed up to her feet and wiped her hands on her dress.

“I can see myself back.” She reached for the hairpin in the grass and slipped it into her hair with practiced efficiency. The crown threatened to fall from her head, but she caught the blossoms and held them in front of her chest.

“But—”

“Thank you. For the lessons.”

Dismissal clear, West merely nodded.

With far more dignity than anyone in possession of a flower crown ought to have, Bella strode off toward Blackwood, taking West’s heart with her.

CHAPTER 1

LONDON, ENGLAND

Nine Years Later

His opponent had a painfully hard head. West’s knuckles throbbed with each strike against it.

Delighted cheers swirled with insensible jeers as West shook out his hand, flinging away the echoing throb of the lad’s sharp jaw. Unfortunately, Trevor kept his feet and struck back with a hook to the flank. West sidestepped at the last second, the hit only glancing.

Again, Trevor rounded and countered. The punch landed with a dull thud to West’s pectoral. Air burst free from his lungs, then gushed back in with his agonizing gasp.